A Scumbag Always Gets What He Deserves

3: Meeting on a narrow path

Rege strode along the winding corridor, and several knights in silver armor accompanied him.

An attendant came up panting, holding a long sword studded with jewels.

The Duke of Grande, who met him head on, asked harshly, "Where are you going? What are you doing with so many people?"

Rege glanced at him carelessly. His steps never paused.

Seeing his son's back quickly disappear, the Duke of Grande was so angry his head began to smoke, but there was nothing he could do. Rege's character was too strong, he wasn't under his control at all.

The walls on both sides of the corridor were covered with portraits of beauties. Some had blonde hair and blue eyes, some had red hair and brown eyes, some wore a veil or wore splendid clothes, and some were completely naked. All without exception were love objects Rege had ardently pursued, unrivalled beauties who were famous throughout Tortus.

Just like a hunter will display the head of a stag above a fireplace, these lifelike paintings and the devastatingly beautiful women depicted in them were Rege's trophies.

In the Gloria Empire, and in the entire continent, there was no woman he couldn't get.

However, in recent times, he really had suffered a few setbacks. Miss Lilith, the lady he had been enthusiastically pursuing, had turned down his overtures because she was infatuated with the Earl of Flowervale.

This aroused his competitive spirit and curiosity.

Even if Lord Duncan hadn't mentioned it, Rege would have found time to meet this rival in love.

The Earl of Flowervale—this title was certainly very romantic, but he didn't know if the man would turn out to be unworthy of the name.

Rege buckled his long sword around his waist as his thoughts rambled. When he reached the end of the corridor, he stopped out of habit. His gaze went to the painting on the highest part of the wall.

Unlike the previous portraits, this was a panoramic scene. A deep blue spring emerged from a lush, green forest, and a slender girl lounged at the water's edge. Her body was covered with white gauze as thin as a cicada's wings. Her golden hair was scattered in the water like clouds and mist, beautiful as an elf. She was turned slightly to the side, looking at the person outside the frame, and her thin shoulders gave a slightly frail feeling.

There was no doubt her skin was crystal clear, her figure was peerlessly graceful, her temperament was veiled in mystery, but her face was blank.

As her creator, Rege hadn't even portrayed her facial features.

At that moment, Rege looked up at the blank face with yearning and confusion in his eyes.

Lord Duncan came up to him and asked in a low voice, "Why haven't you painted her face yet?"

Rege who was still staring at the painting shook his head. "A dream can't be painted with a mortal paintbrush. Unless God holds my hand and leads my consciousness personally, I can't paint even a ten-thousandth of her beauty. She's the goddess of my dreams."

Lord Duncan nodded with sudden enlightenment, but the moment he lowered his eyes he revealed a look of disapproval.

What dream goddess? It was a delusion, nothing more. Weren't real women beautiful?

----

"Why did we stop?" Rege opened the curtains and looked outside.

He was sitting in Lord Duncan's carriage with a mountain eagle painted on the door, the emblem of the Duncan family. The carriage was now parked on a narrow country road. On both sides of the road there were steep ridges. Below them were fields planted with grain seedlings.